


Death is Final

by Hepburn_Junkie22



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: but she isn't scared, cordelia's thoughts on death, she's not ready
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 06:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hepburn_Junkie22/pseuds/Hepburn_Junkie22
Summary: This story is my reaction to the scene in AHS Apocalypse when Cordelia lifts her blouse and we see the rot on her abdomen, the beginning of the end if you will. It seemed to me that it wasn't the first spot she had discovered.  This is my rendition of her thoughts and feelings.





	Death is Final

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped into my head a few days ago and would not leave me alone. I'm new in the realm of American Horror Story, but I think I like this sandbox. I did not create these characters or the show, I'm only playing. Feel free to comment and send requests :)

Death is something that no one truly understands.  It’s something that no matter how hard you try, you just can’t quite grasp the truth of it.  No one is able to adequately prepare, no matter if you’re watching your loved one slip away over a period of time or it’s a sudden act. 

Death is relentless. 

Death is nonconforming. 

Death is excruciatingly painful.

Death is peaceful.

_Death is final._

 And at its core, it’s the finality of death that scares you, disarms you and fills you with dread.  Knowing that, in reality, you were never given enough time to do what you set out to do.  That you will have to content yourself with the knowledge that you did what you could or in some cases, not what you were destined to do at all.

Cordelia didn’t fear death, but that’s not to say that she welcomed it.  When spots of decay and rot began showing on her body, shades of grey and ominous black, she was paralyzed.  She could feel her life force, her powers slowly draining from her body, leaving behind empty places she never thought she’d feel again.  She had only just found her place in the universe, losing that anchor was what terrified her. She was the most powerful witch in the world and as it seems, her time was up.

It was with this epiphany that she truly began to understand her mother.  Not the Fiona Goode who the world saw, brash and extravagant.  Nor the Fiona who struggled with a cancer diagnosis and treatment.  Cordelia understood the Fiona who came to her, years ago, afraid of her imminent death and being alone.  Just as her mother before her, she wasn’t ready to concede.  Although Cordelia would not fight the inevitable like her mother, she knew that this was just the way of their world, that in order for someone new to rise she would have to fall.  It was the balance of nature at its finest.

She cried.  Not the scared tears of her past nor the tears she’d shed in joy over the last few years, no these were tears that were not unfamiliar to her, but rare nonetheless.  They were born of anger, an anger that burned so bright it burned her from the inside out. She didn’t rail against the universe for giving her a definite place and then abruptly taking it away.  She didn’t curse the heavens and ask, ‘why her?’  She didn’t despise the new Supreme who seemed to be growing in her powers more and more each day. She didn’t see the supremacy that way.  It was a gift that was given to her, something she was asked to take care of for a period of time.  And she used it to make a difference in the lives of her girls and the rest of the world. 

She was chosen to bring the Coven into the light, and in doing so provide information to the masses so they could form their own opinions.  Yes, there were some who refused to acknowledge the presence of her and her sister witches, even some who continued to seek their destruction, but there were even more who saw them for what they were.  A truly remarkable group of young girls and women, who happened to be in possession of amazing gifts. No more, no less, just individuals trying to make their way in a world who had once turned its back on them.  They weren’t hiding in the shadows, they were no longer afraid.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on her death.  It wasn’t the time to allow herself to retreat inward and shy away from the world, and more importantly her girls.  She would continue on, until the weariness moved beyond a small amount of fatigue. She would reassess when the dizziness would take over her, not allowing her to focus.  When the pain would increase, as it inevitably would, to the point where she could no longer walk.  She wouldn’t let the girls know until she wasn’t fit to lead the Coven any longer and naming her successor was deemed absolutely necessary.

She would continue on, just as she always had, putting the Coven above herself.  Old habits die hard and all that.  As long as she knew that her girls would be left in capable hands, hands that would help them grow and flourish just as the plants in her greenhouse, then she would let go.  But until then she would carry on, she wasn’t dead yet.


End file.
